Hero's Fall
by Major Session
Summary: Jak's been cast into the wasteland. Now with his rage burning out of cotrol and slowly being warped by the dark eco in his veins he must find someone to help him find the light or be consumed. And if Jak falls, so does the world... rating will go up


Major Session returns!

Alright it's only because his wow subscription ran out but still...

Anyway this is going to be my big Jak and Daxter fic.

This story is set after Jak 2. I did this for two reasons. 1 Most people seem to re-write Jak 2. This means there are only a few Jak 3 re-writes out there and I want to add to them. 2 I feel they downplayed the whole aspect of betrayal Jak should have felt after being cast out, so I'm going to rectify that.

Hope you all enjoy.

"..." Speaking

'...' Thoughts

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**Prologue: The Oracle's Vision**

Darkness and light. Light and Darkness. As long as time has turned these forces have clashed over the worlds, each seeking to gain dominance. In this eternal war there will be times of peace and times of war. In peace rejoice, for time shall seem fleeting. In war remember the peace and fight for to see them again. But listen now, can't you hear it? The drums of war thunder once again... _- Inscrption upon the sarcophagus of Mar._

The darkness flickered it the huts musty interior, held at bay by the hundreds of candles placed there as an offering by the people of the city, a prayer to their ancient precursors. The light fell softly upon the dust strewn floor and thread bare rug, shifting as the candles sputtered in their wax. The hundreds of tiny flames illuminated a large statue of orange metal.

The hunched shoulders sat straight on the ground. A large dome toped head fixed to this base. Finally a large proboscis like nose extended from beneath the two massive blue orbs of the statues eyes.

The Oracle.

Sometimes the eyes were dull, the ancient construct inactive. At others they glowed with a brilliant ethereal fire as the Precursors profit for the ages bespoke its advice to a worthy few. Yet now they smouldered with a tempered blue as the Oracle looked and wandered through the mists of time.

There are those that believe time is like a river, it wends its way across the course of history always certain of its origin and of its future. There are others who say it is like an ocean, that nothing is certain but that it will reach its end. Yet more who say it is like, of all things, a set of trousers. That for every decision reality splits into two timelines. No analogy is accurate. Yet perhaps all concepts contain an element of the truth. Time, like a river, knows what has gone before. Like an ocean no course is certain. And like a pair of trousers there are multiple possibilities and upon the most crucial decisions the course of history may change. The choice may seem trivial, it may hinge upon as simple an act as yes, but hinge it does.

The Oracle gazed and he saw two futures stretching out before him. In one the future was safe. Whilst thwart with peril it would lead un-assuredly to the rise of the saviour. The hero would find his light and wield it as he now wielded darkness. He would conquer the dark makers and the balance of light and dark would be maintained. History would remain intact, this world safe.

But down the other... The Oracle saw pain and darkness. The future hung in the balance. Though there was the possibility of the world being saved and history preserved. There was also an overwhelming chance that in this time, the hero would fall. His light never found, mind consumed by hate and body warped by darkness. The greatest hero of the precursors would become the greatest nightmare to walk the courses time, a living engine of destruction... Yet all was not lost. For though the hero himself may become a being of darkness, there would be another of light to balance him. They would receive the light needed to heal the hero and allow him to fulfil his destiny. Or else all would be lost.

The eyes flared and the oracle spoke. "It is not of a question of if, but a question of how."

Ashelin frowned, her tattoos moving oddly across her face. Torn scowled. "Some help that is." he growled, voice grating and tattoos also twisting upon his visage.

"What do you mean not if but how?" Ashelin demanded of the Oracle, placing one hand on her hip, the red gauntlet reflecting a hundred dancing flames. "We came to ask you how to stop Jak being banished not for riddles, if we wanted those we would have gone to ask Onin!"

"The dark one will leave this city. And he will be banished, that much is clear." the Oracle rumbled.

Ashelin frowned and Torn pushed himself up from where he had been leaning against the wall, his light armour rattling slightly, and started up angrily "If you think we'll..."

"Torn!" Ahselin snapped and Torn subsided for the moment. "What did you mean a question of how not if? If Jak will be banished then the how is obvious! Veger will lead the council and vote Jak out of this city! Therefore we know how!"

The Oracle spoke again "It is your decision. Either you shall choose destruction or salvation. Choose wisely for even now the hate that burns may shall consume him."

"Gah, I give up. Let's go Ashelin, this was just a waste of time." Torn fumed before marching outside to the waiting Hellcat cruiser, the armoured and armed flying behemoth hovering, with waiting guard, outside.

As Ashelin turned to follow, her red dreads swinging and her provocative attire spinning with her the Oracle spoke again. "You must choose whether he is your friend or your enemy for therin the balance of time hangs."

Ashelin snorted. 'Daxter was right, that thing speaks in worse riddles than Onin. Acursed fortune tellers.'

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To all my fans of my other stories, yes I will come back and finish them. Sorry for not updating sooner.

Oh and please tell me what you guys think and anything you'd like to see in this story. Have a guess as to what the decision Torn and Ashelin must make is, what is the Oracle talking about? If you can't guess you'll just have wait and find out.

p.s. I'm not going to give Jak any melee weapons, thats what claws are for. ("He's gone to face the any in hand to hand combant. Mono on Mono. Adios amigo, adios." - Sarge RvB)


End file.
